Wet

Last week I had a conversation with HeadMaster as he awaited his colleagues in a hotel lobby. The conversation led me to greater and greater arousal. My cunt responded with ever increasing wetness. I was directed to lift my skirt such that my ass and pussy were in contact with the seat, then rub my cunt against the seat. My arousal climbed as HeadMaster described the bulge in his suit pants for me, giving me the further imagery of his cock snaking out the bottom of his boxers, beginning to form a wet spot on his pants with a heavy flow of precum. We began to discuss further details that aroused me, and I was directed not to stop rocking my hips and rubbing my cunt against my seat.

HeadMaster indicated that he may have to step in to the men's room to relieve himself. I asked if I might touch my wet, aching cunt. I was told that I could not. I was only allowed to rub against the seat, no touching, no cumming. HeadMaster's colleagues soon arrived and I was left in this state. I couldn't think, I couldn't work, all I could feel was the throbbing in my cunt begging me to touch it. It took me nearly 30 minutes to compose myself, and I was distracted all the rest of the day by my unrealized orgasm.

I snapped a picture of my chair at work after this conversation with HeadMaster: